


Draw The Shades (Pretend No One's Home)

by calculatingthestars



Category: Mortal Instruments Series - Cassandra Clare, Shadowhunters (TV), The Mortal Instruments (Movies)
Genre: Angst, M/M, Romance, jalec - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-17
Updated: 2016-03-24
Packaged: 2018-05-21 06:09:28
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 3,247
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6041101
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/calculatingthestars/pseuds/calculatingthestars
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>TV!verse</p><p>  <i>They fuck in a mundane hotel. It’s easier to hide here, even with the sun painting landscapes on their skin. Easier to pretend that they aren’t doing anything wrong.</i></p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Plays within the conceit that Jace loves Alec _back_. This was originally posted on Tumblr with an accompanying aesthetic collage, which I feel really adds to the flavor of it. I'd encourage giving it a peak [over here](http://ourheartsbeatas1.tumblr.com/post/139417556553/draw-the-shades-pretend-no-ones-home-1-of-3), as I can't seem to figure out how to post pictures directly into the story.
> 
> A note before clicking: The art is tasteful but there IS nudity, and should be considered NSFW.

They _fuck_ in a mundane hotel.

It’s easier to hide here, even with the sun painting landscapes on their skin. Easier to _pretend_ that they aren’t doing anything _wrong_.

They’d agreed to arrive separately, and Alec’s fingers are shaking slightly as he slides the key card into the slot, wondering if maybe, just _maybe_ , this is the one day that Jace won’t show. Hell, if Alec still possessed any sense, _he_  wouldn’t have shown. 

Their affair– this strange, sad thing that has consumed his life– would ruin his family if it ever came to light. Just the thought of the disappointment in his father’s eyes makes him _hesitate_ , pausing at the threshold, the door unlocked but the handle still only half-turned.

A new spin on Schrodinger’s: Jace is both there and _not_ there, waiting to touch and kiss and _fuck_ , but at the same time he’s back at the institute, a good little Shadowhunter practicing his forms. Alec could just stand here, _waiting_ , both possibilities being true and untrue, and thus their sin would remain unrealized indefinitely.He dawdles for another minute or so, perhaps two, but in the end, _desire_ wins out. 

It always _does_.

Alec pushes open the door and something inside him _unclenches_ when he sees Jace, already undressed, staring out the window. Even now, after everything, the sight of him still takes his breath away.

“ _You’re here._ ” There’s a tinge of surprise in Jace’s voice, and it reminds him how tenuous this thing between them is, how fragile. One wrong word, one misstep in the wrong place, could bring everything crashing down around them.

Alec puts the thought out of his mind, shutters it away in a corner that he refuses to look at. Compartmentalize. It’s the only way he can survive.

“Of course I’m here,” he says, and then he’s taking three long strides across the room and he’s in Jace’s arms. 

He _tries_ to control himself, to take things slow for once, but it’s been three long weeks– the longest it’s ever been since they started this– and Jace is clawing at his jacket and making low sounds in the back of his throat and Alec just fucking _loses_ it.

He’s not even fully undressed before he’s on his knees in front of Jace, swallowing him down as the other bites back whimpers against the back of his hand. When they fuck, it’s on the _floor_ , a blur of bodies and rumpled clothing and pure, sheer _want_ that it would overwhelm him if it had been anybody but _Jace_.

His lover. 

His _parabatai_.

The room is a _mess_ by the time they’re done, and Alec only has a vague recollection of why the desk has been upended, the couch overturned, the mattress laying half off the bed. He can still taste Jace on his tongue, still feel him inside of him, still revel in the touch of his skilled hands.

“You’re worth it, you know,” Jace is speaking now, though he looks no less devastated. He’s lying next to Alec, long fingers splayed across his chest. He doesn’t have to elaborate; they both know what they’re risking, every time they do this.

Alec reaches over and touches Jace’s wrist, brings it to his mouth and kisses the pulse point. 

“No,” he says. “I’m _not._ ” 

Jace makes a small noise in the back of his throat, as if he wants to argue, but Alec is already releasing him, turning his back on his parabatai. 

“You should leave first.” He doesn’t say anything else, and they’ve done this enough times that Jace knows that attempting to continue would be an exercise in futility. He moves to get dressed, the bed dipping slightly and bouncing back up as he leaves, and Alec doesn’t have to turn his head to know that he’s angry.

A stomp as heavy boots are put on, a rustle of leather as his jacket is shrugged on. Then, finally, the door slams shut. 

He’s _alone_.

Alec closes his eyes and _sleeps_.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, the accompanying aesthetic collage can be found on my Tumblr over [here.](http://ourheartsbeatas1.tumblr.com/post/139802149108/draw-the-shades-pretend-no-ones-home-2-of-3)

Eventually, it _ends_.

Not because of anything so dramatic as someone _finding_ out– they’re far too _careful_ for that– but because Alec gets _engaged_. And Jace will put up with a _lot_ in order to be with Alec, he’ll lie and hide and pretend he doesn’t die a little more each day, but he _won’t_ stand by and watch him _marry_ someone _else_. 

“We can run,” Jace says, and Alec doesn’t need to look into his face to know that he’s deadly serious. “We can just… _leave_. _Now_. **Tonight**. I don’t care _when_ , Alec, just– _Please_.”

It’s as close to begging as Jace has ever gotten, and Alec wants to put his fist through a wall, his knee through a door. It’s as if the Angel himself is laughing at him– at _them_ – with all of the heavenly host behind him. He isn’t stupid enough to actually _believe_  that homosexuality is a sin, but he’s smart enough to know that leaving won’t solve anything.

“We’re not running,” he says, and he’s proud (and ashamed) of how his voice doesn’t crack. “I’m going to marry Lydia, like our parents want. And that’ll be the end of it.”

"You mean the end of _us_ ,” Jace says, his penchant for stating the obvious in full force. Alec wants to turn around, to grab him by the arms and  _shake_ him, to tell him that this is harder– _so, so much harder_ – for _him_ because he’s been in love with Jace for so long that he scarcely knows _who_ _he is_ without this love. It’s an ache he’s carried since boyhood, an open wound that had healed, partially, when he’d realized that Jace had shared his feelings, but is ripped anew every time they part from one of their trysts. 

Sometimes Alec wonders if it wouldn’t have been easier if Jace didn’t love him back, if his passion had been unrequited, left to burn bright but _pure_.

He shoves the thought from his mind; even now, with this marriage looming above them, he _knows_. Every stolen moment with Jace had been worth it, no matter what the cost.

Alec grips the window sill, shoulders hunching as he turns inward, trying desperately to rein himself in. “We’ll still be parabatai,” he says, and the mark at his back– etched on his shoulder blade– _burns_. “It’s enough.”

The sound behind him is _alien_ – halfway between gasp and sob– and Alec turns, eyes widening, as Jace comes towards him, hands fisting in his shirt. “ _Is it?_ ” he asks, eyes wet for the first time since Alec’s known him. “It’s _never_ going to be enough. Not since–” He can’t bring himself to finish, crushing his mouth to Alec’s in a kiss that’s more teeth than anything else, desperate and reckless and purely _Jace_.

When his parabatai starts to undress him, tearing insistently at his shirt, Alec doesn’t even have the strength to argue. “If someone hears–” he says, but the reprimand is half-hearted, in stark contrast to Jace’s furious reply. 

**“ _Let them._ ”**

They _fuck_ , one last time, on Jace’s bed, amidst rumpled sheets that smell like _him_ , and Alec tries to make it _last_ as long as he can. His parabatai leaves as much of himself on his skin as he can– marking him with teeth and fingernails wherever he can reach; Alec can’t blame him.

Afterwards, Jace sits on the edge of his bed, staring blankly at the curtains. There’s a light sheen of sweat on his skin, golden even in the dim light. There’s no breeze and the fabric hangs heavy before him, ragged edges grazing the floor.

Alec pulls on the remainder of his clothing, one piece at a time, a knight donning his armor. “ _Jace,_ ” he says, but that’s all he can muster. What had Isabelle said? Heavy is the head that wears the crown. 

This is his birthright; he can’t– _won’t_ – let generations of Lightwoods _down_.

The silence is palpable as Jace waits for something, _anything_ , but Alec has laid his heart to pasture; there’s nothing left inside of him but stone.

Eventually, his parabatai’s shoulders slump in defeat; he won’t look at him, but even now, he can’t tell him to leave. It would be a kindness to make the first move, to say _goodbye_ , but Alec’s weakness has always been Jace, and he can’t crumble now.

He takes the coward’s way out, wordless and alone, slipping out of Jace’s room as quietly as he can.

The Institute’s hallway looms large, and no one gives him a second glance as he exits his partner’s chambers. No one’s the wiser, and Alec crushes the disappointment in his chest, steels himself for the rest of his life.

_He doesn’t look back._


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aesthetic collage [here!](http://ourheartsbeatas1.tumblr.com/post/140277626973/draw-the-shades-pretend-no-ones-home-3-of-4)

It’s a week later when Alec manages to get Jace alone again. He corners him in the training room after Isabelle leaves, shutting the door behind her before the other man can follow her out.

“I have to talk to you,” he says, and Jace frowns, his eyes _flashing_.

“You’re still **engaged**. I thought I made it _clear_ –”

“I need you to be my best man at the wedding,” Alec says in a rush, because prolonging the request will just make everything worse. “It’s happening next month; mother had to move it up because of–” He cuts himself off, no longer eager to blame the Fairchild girl anymore. They’d done what they’d done, and it had been Alec’s fault for allowing it. He could have stopped them– his headstrong brother, his carefree sister– he could have had them all thrown in lockup until their parents returned. He’d chosen _not_ to; he would bear the responsibility for doing so.

“Lydia’s coming in next week to make the preparations,” he continues, relentless. “It’s not going to be very big, only the most important families will be there. You won’t have to _do_ anything– just stand next to me.”

For a moment, Jace is silent, his pallor ashen before turning a splotchy, angry red. “ _ **No**_ ,” he says, furious. “How can you even ask me that?”

“You’re my _parabatai_ ,” Alec says, incredulous. How many times had he stood by Jace’s side– _angel be damned_ if he thought he was right or wrong– simply because his parabatai had _asked?_ Hell, Alec wouldn’t even be _in_ this situation if Jace hadn’t decided that Clary Fray was his responsibility, bending over backwards and risking all their lives to help her on whatever fool plan she conjured. “People will _talk_ if you aren’t my best man!”

“And that’s all you care about, isn’t it?” Jace is relentless, stalking forward like a lion advancing on his prey. “ _What people think_.”

He puts his hands on Alec’s chest and shoves _hard_ , the other’s back hitting the wall as his lips curl back in a snarl.

“And all _you_ care about is _yourself_ ,” Alec shouts, grabbing Jace by the lapels and slamming him back against the door. “It’s always about _you_ , what _you_ want, what _you_ need. You’re so selfish that you don’t give a  _damn_ about _anyone else_!”

Jace _hits_ him.

His fist connects with Alec’s jaw, stunning him momentarily, but Lightwoods are nothing if not fighters, and he comes up _swinging_.

Alec is bigger, but Jace is _vicious_ , and it isn’t long before they’re grappling on the ground without form or function, an errant elbow causing a split lip _here_ , a fist creating a bruised cheek _there_.

Alec doesn’t even know how he manages it, but he ends up on top of Jace, pinning both his hands to the mats while his parabatai glares at him defiantly. He’s _hard_ – _both of them are_ , Angel help them– and all Alec wants to do is lean down and kiss that stupid, arrogant look off of Jace’s face.

And so he _does_ , all the pent-up frustration bubbling to the surface as he kisses his parabatai, devouring every sigh, every startled moan that he manages to draw out of Jace. They’ve gone longer than this without touching, but it had felt so _final_ the last time, so certain that they would never do this again.

They move against each other, desperate, _wanting_ , and for once he’s not thinking about how dangerous this is, how anyone could walk past and  _hear_ them. Alec has Jace’s hoodie unzipped and his hand between his legs by the time he pulls back long enough to take a ragged breath, panting from the hickey he’d just left on his parabatai’s throat.

It’s only at this point that he realizes:

 _Jace’s eyes are **wet**_.

His lower lip is trembling and he’s pliant– even _responsive_ – beneath Alec, but his eyes are brimming and there’s moisture on his cheeks.

And Alec knows without a doubt that if he kept going, Jace would _**let**_ him, regardless of the fact that he’d _ended_ it, no matter how much it _hurt_ him.

The realization is like ice water in his veins, and Alec sits up, releasing his parabatai as if _burned_. He moves back and turns his chin, looking away long enough for Jace to get his clothes back into place.

He feels stretched thin, ragged at the edges, as if the only thing that’s holding him together is rapidly thinning ice. Jace makes a noise as he pushes himself up, zipping his hoodie up again as he sits there, trembling.

"I’m _sorry_ –” Alec tries, but Jace won’t look at him, won’t even meet his eyes.

“Just go,” he says, voice rougher than he’s ever heard it. “ _Please_.”

And Alec can’t stand the thought of him being in so much pain, can’t fathom leaving him like this, _wrecked_ , but he knows that his presence will only make it _worse_.

“I’m sorry,” he says again– hopelessly, helplessly.

And then he’s _gone_.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Aesthetic collage [here](http://ourheartsbeatas1.tumblr.com/post/141617197883/draw-the-shades-pretend-no-ones-home-4-of-4)!

It’s the day of the wedding.

Lydia’s dressed in _gold_ , an ornate gown that conveys all the trappings of her stature. They’re waiting in an office until they call for them, which Alec thinks is  _fitting_ given the transactional nature of their arrangement.

Isabelle comes in to give him a hug, dark eyes barely sparing Lydia a glance, and her disappointment is almost palpable, tightly shuttered underneath her perfectly coiffed hair.

After she leaves, Alec looks at his soon-to-be wife and she smiles at him, small and sad. _Camaraderie in combat_. “It won’t be so bad,” she says, and she squeezes his hand. Alec squeezes back, but her fingers are like ice, and he can’t shake the feeling of how _wrong_ this is, how much he wants someone _else_ to be standing in her place.

He thinks about Jace, stubborn to the last, refusing to stand beside him on the most important day of his life. _Ask anything else of me_ , Jace had said. _But not this_.

They’ve barely spoken a word since then, the gaze that used to follow him everywhere now painfully absent, their bond taut and fraying. Alec himself is barely hanging on by a thread, and Lydia tilts her head in askance. 

“It's going to take some getting used to, seeing our rune here.” She holds up the back of her hand, showing him the bare skin. “I'd prefer it here.“ It’s the more logical spot since she’s left handed; she won’t be able to draw runes there herself anyway, so it’s the equivalent of dead air. 

A _convenient_ place for a symbolic rune. 

Alec’s hand goes to the mark at his hip almost instinctively, the parabatai rune  _burning_ him through layers of cloth. _Jace_ had drawn it there when he was seventeen, going through the ring of fire and flame without even blinking, his fingers so damned gentle when he’d traced the sharp line of Alec’s waist. He can still remember the _feel_ of his fingertips, skimming the v of his hip down to where he’d wanted it. Wanted _him_.

Even then, Alec had **known**. Jace had loved him, wanted him _back_ , but this was his small rebellion against those feelings, at attempt to keep his emotions at _bay_. _This will ease the ache_ , Alec had thought, _because I can be content that we’ll be together forever_. _I don’t need anything more from him._

He’d been wrong, of course, but he’d only found that out later, when he could _finally_ feel just how much Jace was holding himself back through their fresh-made bond, so afraid that Alec would hate him if he _knew_. The _ache_  of it was a living thing, pulsing and dark, and Alec had known beyond a shadow of a doubt that he’d damn himself forever before he let it _continue_.

Two days after their ritual had been all it _took_. Two days before he’d gone to Jace’s room and simply taken him in his arms, carded his fingers through his hair and _kissed_ him, _over and over,_  told him that it was _okay_ , that he felt the same way, assured him that no one would **ever** _find out_. 

_The beginning of the end._

His lack of a response is _telling_ ; the expression on his face even _moreso_.

Lydia takes one look at him and just _knows_.

“Are you sure?” she asks, and there’s no malice there, only a vague sort of disappointment with a much _sharper_ undertone. “ _There’s no going back._ ” Already, he can see the wheels in her head _turning_ , searching for an angle on how to spin this to her advantage. Lydia Branwell; the consummate politician.

_She’s going to be **fine**._

In response, Alec pulls the rings from his pocket, presses them into her hand. “Please make sure my parents get these,” he says. “And tell them… Tell them I’m _sorry_.”

Lydia presses her lips together, nodding, her pale fingers closing over the heirlooms. He takes one last look at her, framing her in a snapshot in his mind, holding the memory and tucking it away.

He knows this is **goodbye** , and this time, he has the strength to say it _out loud_.

* * *

[EPILOGUE]

Alec finds Jace on a bench in a mundane park, clad in his typical leathers and staring out into a small lake. His mark isn’t active and people give him a wide berth, pulling children away when they stare at his tattoos a shade too long.

“You’re married, then,” Jace says hollowly as he approaches. Refusing to turn his head to look at him. _He’s such a child_ , Alec thinks, and the burst of fondness in his chest _hurts_  in the best way possible. “I’m not going back.”

“Not quite,” Alec replies. “And neither am I.”

He sets his backpack down and takes a seat beside Jace, putting his arm around him and drawing him close. “You can’t even run away right,” he says, sighing. “You didn’t bring anything with you. What are you supposed to do for  _food_?”

“I have my stele,” Jace says, voice tight, but he’s turning into Alec’s embrace like a puzzle piece clicking into place, hiding his face in his parabatai’s neck. “I can just steal whatever I need.”

Alec makes an exasperated noise in the back of his throat. “You’re terrible at planning,” he says. “You never think things through and you’re always making rash decisions. I don’t even know why I love you so _damned much_ but–”

“ _Shut up_ ,” Jace says, and his hand is wrapping around the nape of Alec’s neck and pulling him down for a fierce kiss. It’s awkward as hell and the whole world can _see_ and Alec…

_Alec doesn’t **care**._

For the first time in his life, he’s _free_.


End file.
